


Just Like Clockwork

by Asdgafn



Category: Supernatural, casdean - Fandom, deancas - Fandom, destiel - Fandom
Genre: Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Bar Tender Dean Winchester, M/M, Mechanic Castiel, Mentions of child abuse (it's minor stuff), Minor Character Death, Soul Mate AU, Unbeta'd, it's cute, seriously wrote without editing, will maybe edit later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8568742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdgafn/pseuds/Asdgafn
Summary: Everyone is born with a tattoo on their wrist that counts down the years, months, and days until they meet their soul mate. 
Dean Winchester is a wild mannered bar tender who drinks too much and sleeps around. Castiel Novak is a respectable mechanic, working with his brother in their shop.





	1. Chapter 1

_13:02:05._ Thirteen years. Two months. Five days. The thick black numbers on his pale wrist were a comfort, a promise that kept the days from becoming too much to handle. They guaranteed at least a small margin of happiness in a life too full of sorrow and loss. Even on a night as dark as this, those bold numbers provided that little key to keeping him from falling apart.

Dean Winchester was twelve years old and sitting alone in a hospital that stank of death and antiseptic under the layer of lemon that tried to hide it. His too boney knees knocked together as he shivered in the frigid air conditioning, his hands clasped together in his lap as he waited. Somewhere beyond this too cold room his father was dying.

The reassurances of the nurse who said his father would be fine hadn’t convinced him. That too obvious tone of pity spoiled her attempt at hopeful words. He spared a brief glance to check on his little brother, curled up on the couch next to him, passed out from sheer exhaustion. It was 11:49 pm and Sammy was usually in bed by 9:00 pm. Dean wasn’t surprised his little brother had fallen asleep in this time of fear and desperation.

He sucked in a tired breath, his skinny chest expanding but catching on an unexpected sob. It hiccupped roughly through his throat and bubbled out as a fresh wave of tears began to run down his already stained cheeks. The boy tried so hard to choke down the emotions, to shove them down and lock them away but the sobs kept coming, the tears kept burning his blood shot green eyes.

It was all too much. Somewhere his father was dying of a heart attack or a stroke, he did not know the difference between them yet. Somewhere Dean was losing his only parent, the last thing that kept his chaotic life together. It made him regret every negative thought and word he had against his father. The screams that his dad was a horrible parent that drank too much. The accusing thoughts that his father had killed their mother so many years ago. It never mattered that it had been a house fire.

None of that mattered. At this moment, Dean loved his father more than anything in the world (except Sammy of course). He didn’t care about the constant drinking or the swearing or the beatings. His mind forgot the abuse and fear, it remembered how his life was before his mother died in the fire. The time they played baseball in a field. The time his father tried to bake a cake but it burned so they ordered one. The day his father let him hold a sleeping Sam, only two months old at the time.

He didn’t really know how to pray, he had never been taught before, but his thoughts stumbled through an attempt. The broken boy cried as quietly as he could while he begged with unspoken words to god. Save his dad. Save his family. Don’t take him away to where his mom was. Don’t leave him and Sammy alone like this. Please, please, please. It repeated brokenly, a mantra to each tear dripping off his chin, splattering on his ripped pajamas.

A gentle cough jerked the boy out of his thoughts, his desperate memories, and the underlying prayers to a god that did not hear. The chaos in his little head ground to a halt. He raised his watery gaze upwards, struggling to focus through the tears still leaking free. All he saw was a sad and sympathetic gaze that spoke before she did. The nurses’ voice was soft, her voice regretful. “Are you Dean Winchester? And Samuel Winchester?”

She looked over at Sammy, asleep under Dean’s coat, then looked back at the tear stained face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Your daddy didn’t make it. The doctors tried but his heart…” her words cut off when Dean shook with renewed sobs, his body shaking hard enough to rattle the chair. She impulsively swept him into her arms, running a soothing hand over his back as she whispered a babble of comforting sounds while he clung to her. Sammy slept on, undisturbed for the time by the sorrow pervading the room. He at least would have peace for a little while longer.

When Dean cried himself to exhaustion, cradled in the arms of the nurse that cared too much, the last thing he saw was the numbers on his arm changing. 13:02:04. It was a small reminder while his world came crashing down around him that this wasn’t the end. In thirteen years, two months, and four days he would meet his soul mate. It was a guarantee of happiness, the tiniest shred of comfort as sleep took him away into the nightmares to come. It was the tiniest of lights in the dark loneliness that congealed in his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

_00:01:15._ Zero years, one months, and fifteen days. Dean studied the all too familiar marks on his wrist, biting absently at his bottom lip. He was sprawled out on the questionable sheets of the seedy motel’s bed. The room smelled like regret and forgotten affairs, musty with old sweat and other questionable fluids. An all too familiar buzz of alcohol warmed his veins, softening his disgust into tolerance.

He only vaguely heard the sound of someone speaking, his mind reeling and spinning under the influence of the whiskey. Dean jerked his head over to the side, tried to make his hazy eyes focus. A rather lovely looking blonde was putting on her shoes, hand pressed against the door for balance. Her clothing looked rumpled, hastily dragged on.

“God you’re too wasted. Are you even listening?” Her voice was shrill with irritation as she spoke. The rest of her words escaped him though, faded away into the haze, turned into vague garbles. He dimly heard the door slamming, loud enough to make him flinch; it sent the world to spinning again. He finally let his wrist drop back to the bed, turned upright, numbers facing the ceiling.

Dean groaned tiredly, rolling over with the intent to grab more alcohol or maybe his pants, thrown over a chair nearby. Instead he accidentally rolled too far, straight off the edge of the bed to bounce off a nightstand and hit the floor. He moaned at the dull throb of pain that burst through his ribs, managing to wheeze a curse out.

A few moments later, he stretched a hand out to seize the nightstand, using it for leverage. He hauled himself upwards into a shaky stand, feet spread wide as he blinked drunkenly. Where was? Oh. He took a few stumbling steps to grab his pants, carefully wiggling them on one leg after the other. Then he snatched up the half empty bottle of whiskey, shaking it with a considering frown.

With a shrug devoid of care, Dean tilted the bottle back, embracing the burn of the booze as it slid down his throat. He coughed against the taste, leaving just enough alcohol for his morning coffee when the handover hits. A satisfied smile spread easily over his face as he swayed back to the bed, falling down face first with a snorted giggle. The world was too amusing right now.

He was too amused to care about whoever he had offended, the attractive blonde. He didn’t even care about the hangover that was sure to knock him flat when noon rolled around. Not even his looming shift at the bar bothered him, despite knowing his mood would be soured by a persistence headache and his boss watching him a bit too closely.

This was who he was. The last few years Dean Winchester was a wild card. He was a little storm, freed to whirl through his life without a care. The alcohol went down like water, hot and burning through his veins, easing his memories into a smile. The sleeping around was a comfort, a few hours of distraction and a moment of feeling like he wasn’t entirely worthless. He was all smiles and winks, flirtations dropping from his mouth like a prayer, soft and promising.

And it all ended the same way. Alone and drunk in his bed or a motel bed, sprawled out while the world spun in circle after circle.


	3. Chapter 3

_00:00:23._ Zero years, zero months, and twenty three days. He barely spared the small black numbers a look these days, despite the continually dwindling time. This was a rare moment, his eyes focused on the tattoo with a slight frown marking his lips. Twenty three days was such a small amount of time. It made his heart beat a little faster, he felt the slight excitement.

Then the bell over the door clanged, signaling that a customer was coming in. He let his wrist drop as he stood up and headed toward the counter, a friendly smile already in place. “How may I help you?” He asked politely, though it was slightly ruined by his slight chuckle. “Oh, it’s you, Kevin. What happened now?”

Castiel Novak was the co-owner of the automobile repair shop, ‘Angel Dust’. Kevin Tran was one of his regular customers; the poor kid had inherited an old truck for his first vehicle. It was constantly breaking down or in need of this or that part. He saw Kevin almost once a week these days, if not more often.

“I don’t know, Mr. Novak, you’re the expert!” Kevin said with a disgruntled tone to his voice, though he amended it with an apologetic mumble. “Sorry, it’s been a rough day. Uh, there was a weird smell when I started it up today. Sort of sweet? I think its coolant, the truck overheated less than a mile down the road. I had to baby it down here, it overheated three more times.”

Castiel frowned as he listened to Kevin explain the issue, fingers tapping idly against the counter. “Coolant leak does sound reasonable. It is a common issue with the ’97 F-150s. Are you expected anywhere in the next two hours? I am free to work on the truck now but it takes a while to find coolant leaks.” He glanced out the front windows, spotting the dusty maroon truck parked crookedly out front.

“Yeah, I have to get to school. I’m already ten minutes late,” Kevin puffed out an annoyed sigh, looking up at the digital clock to confirm what he already knew. “Y’know, sometimes I wish my mom hadn’t given me the stupid truck. I think I would have been better off!”

“Take my car. You can swap during your lunch,” Cass cracked a slight smile at the joke. “Don’t speed though, you cannot afford a ticket.” He warned before passing over his keys, the movement familiar. He had loaned his car to Kevin a few times before in the past. It was the least he could do for such a regular customer.

The harried student traded over his keys for Castiels’, hurrying out of the shop with a belated ‘thanks’ thrown over his shoulder. A moment later Cass saw his silver car carefully pull out of the parking lot and merge into ongoing traffic. He shook his head slightly, snatching up the keys to the truck and walking out front to fetch it. There indeed was a sweet smell in the air when the maroon beast coughed to life at the turn of a key.

He limped the less than cooperative vehicle into his shop, tires crunching against the gravel before rolling onto the smooth concrete of the garage. He hopped out, leaving the keys on the dash. His phone pinged at him from the pocket of his slacks as he moved back to the front of the store. It was a text from his brother, Gabriel. b there in 5 bruh. Castiel rolled his eyes heavenwards, knowing that the five would actually be somewhere around twenty minutes instead. Gabriel was an excellent mechanic and was superb with customer service but he was always late to work.

Cass scrawled out a note about him being out back and to ring the bell for service, leaving it placed near said bell. He looked out front briefly before returning to the garage, wheeling his tool box over to the dusty truck. He popped the hood, cringing at the overwhelming scent of the coolant. There was definitely a leak and it was bad. The first place to look was always the radiator, he ran a hand over the hoses, searching for a hole or crack that would allow the leak.

Sure enough, a moment later and far sooner than he had expected, he found a small crack in one of the hoses. It took him less than a half hour to change it out and refill the coolant for the truck. By the time he was done, washing stray smears of engine grease from his hands, he heard a ruckus in the front; loud, off key singing and stomping. Gabriel had finally showed up. He dried his hands with a stained rag and went to confront his brother.

Gabriel had the radio turned on, it blared out one of the latest pop songs, which he sang tunelessly to. He was even dancing around by himself, shoes squeaking and stomping against the tile. Cass cleared his throat pointedly after he switched the music off, an eyebrow raised. “Gabe, what are you doing?” His brother whirled around with a grin splitting his face, eyes crinkled with the force of his happiness.

“Cassie! I brought doughnuts. The cashier, who was totally hot, gave me her number. What a way to start the day, huh?” He spoke animatedly as he sauntered over to a white box, opening it to expose a dozen assorted doughnuts. “And before you start bitching, I know I’m like an hour late. Don’t care. Have doughnuts!” He raised a white powdered doughnut in a mock salute before taking a large bite.

Cass sighed noisily through his nose but it didn’t stop the slight smile while he watched his energetic brother. It was hard to believe that Gabe was the older of the two, he was such a child at heart. “Try to be not as late tomorrow then?” He asked as he grabbed a doughnut for himself, one with maple glaze and a few scattered sprinkles.

“I’m going back to the garage, can you manage the front today? Kevin brought his truck in- yes, again- it had a coolant leak. I’m going to give it a check over, try to prevent maybe another visit this week.” He waved a hand to stop Gabriel from interrupting, shaking his head with a snort. “Knowing Kevin, he’ll be back tomorrow. He borrowed my car, if he gets back before I’m done just call for me, ok?”

He was leaving before Gabriel could reply though, the doors to the workshop closing behind him as he backed out. If he let Gabe get a word in, he’d be stuck talking for an hour instead of working. He took a quick bite from his doughnut, savoring the sweet taste as he wandered back to the truck. After stuffing the last bite in his mouth, he brushed a stray few sprinkles from his hands then dove back into his work.


	4. Chapter 4

_00:00:13_. Zero years, zero months, and thirteen days. There was less than two weeks left, slowly ticking down day by day across his wrist. The familiar numbers were so close to disappearing forever, each midnight bringing down the dwindling black ink. When his eyes caught the reminder, dark against his pale skin, he gulped down a shot of burning whiskey.

The glass clicked when it was set down on the bar. He licked his lips, tongue darting out to catch the clinging drops of alcohol. Then he was smiling at a pretty red head, waving her hand to get his attention. “What can I do for you, gorgeous?” He asked, hands busy cleaning out a mug with a worn out rag.

She smiled tightly, dismissing the slightly flirtatious tone, “Two long islands, please?” Before he could prompt her, she was sliding a driver license across the bar. A quick glance confirmed she was over twenty one and he set about to making the two drinks while she tucked the card back into her wallet. Music thrummed heavily overhead and he swayed along to the beat, careful to not spill a drop.

A little purple umbrella completed each drink before he slid them over, trading it for the cash to pay for the drinks. She barely stayed long enough to call “keep the change” over the music, disappearing into the press of bodies. Dean watched her leave with an appreciative look before tucking the change into his pocket and the payment into the till. Then he was back to cleaning glasses, humming and swaying along to the music.

It was the usual night for him. Too loud music pulsed through his bones, people hailed him continuously, and his hands were always busy. He worked the night shift at the bar for Viva La Chicks, a quaint club off Main Street, tucked in among the shops with a bright neon sign. It was cute, even he had to admit, title done in glowing cursive with a little yellow chick at the end. It even had a quote bubble with the word ‘peep’.

He was their only male bar tender, the other two were sassy ladies that kept him in line. One, Charlie Bradbury, is a fiery red head that wasn’t afraid to scold him or swat him when he overstepped his boundaries. The other, Meg Masters, is a sultry blonde that sometimes got a bit too touchy. She always defended herself by saying his ass was built to be grabbed, even if she swung for the other team.

All in all, it was a decent job. He liked his work and he was allowed to drink pretty freely throughout his shift, provided he didn’t get too drunk. Charlie was the one who’d cut him off if she saw him slur one too many times, swatting his hand away from the whiskey with a promise to cut his pay. She was technically the manager here and had the power to pull through with her threats. It was usually enough to make him back off with a grin and wink, off to clean or make another drink.

He made three more drinks and cleaned a dozen cups or so when he felt a pinch to his rear end. He yelped slightly, swatting away Meg’s hand with practiced ease. “Hands off the goods!” Dean turned to look at her with a mock glower, it dissolved into a cheerful half smile quickly, the routine all too familiar. “You never grope and walk away, it’s always grab then ask. What do you need now, you wicked blonde demon?”

Meg brushed away the comment with a little laugh and a simmering look upwards through her lashes. “You know me too well, Winchester. I need a strong man to bring in our latest shipment, someone with plenty of muscle…” She pointedly dragged a slow look over his body, focusing a moment longer on his arms. “Think we have anyone like that around here?” Her low voice was almost lost in the din of the music.

Dean feigned a look of confusion, sweeping his eyes over the crowd and back to her. “A strong man, huh? At a lesbian bar? I think you may be hard pressed to find one. Would little old me do instead?” He asked coyly with a small wave to indicate himself. Then he dropped the banter with a chuckle, “I’ll get it, Meg. You and Charlie man the bar while I get it done, alright? Or, well, woman the bar.” He hurried away from her as she groaned at the terrible joke, backing into the doors that led outside.

It was easy to haul the heavy boxes inside, leaving them in the store room to be unpacked after the bar closed. He stacked them neatly in a corner and when he was done, he took a moment to lean against the wall. A dull headache had been throbbing in the back of his head all day, the music of the club had worsened it. He dug around in his pocket, pulling out a few small red pills, swallowing them down dry. How would he live without Advil? He probably wouldn’t.

With a steadying breath he launched himself back into the fray, sliding back into place behind the bar with a new smile fixed in place. He avoided another grab from Meg, winking when she pouted at him. He mixed up another girly drink for a lovely lady, offering her a sweet word with the sweeter drink. Of course it was brushed off as she left with her drink. He drank another shot, paying for it with his tips of the night.

And when he stumbled home that night, just a barely crossing that line into being drunk, he was met with another swing from life. Taped to the door of his sketchy one bedroom, one bathroom apartment was a notice. He squinted in the dark, hand resting on the still locked doorknob, reading the tiny printed words. It was a notice about coming home drunk and loud too many times. One more would result in eviction. He scrunched the paper in his fist, anger bubbling in his stomach.

He unlocked the door with hands shaking from his anger, kicking it open with a nudge of his foot. The first thing he grabbed when the door was shut and locked behind him was the bottle of tequila sitting on the table. He popped the top off and started gulping, eyes closed against the harsh taste. Drinking the problem away wasn’t the solution but he didn’t care.


	5. Chapter 5

_00:00:00_. Zero years, zero months, zero days. The numbers that had followed him through his life, since birth, were finally nothing more than a line of zeros. This was the day he’d meet his soul mate. Castiel found it ironic that it also happened to be a Thursday. At first he wondered if he should take the day off but his sense of duty had him unlocking the doors to Angel Dust and walking in.

Gabriel was already there from the sound of the music hollowly echoing out of the garage. That was a surprise. Gabe was always late, he was never on time, and he’d be dead before he showed up early. Castiel was immediately suspicious as he walked slowly over to the counter. He spotted an open box of doughnuts; the entire dozen was maple with a scattering of brightly coloured sprinkles.

“Gabe?” He rose his voice into a mild toned shout, it was only intended to grab his brother’s attention. The clatter of tools and the radio shutting off told him his brother had heard; a moment later the workshop’s doors banged open as a grinning Gabriel sauntered out. “Gooooood morning, Cassie.” His voice was loud and boisterous.

“How are you today? Ready to meet your lady? Hope she’s cute?” Gabriel chattered onwards, throwing out an exaggerated wink as he snatched up a doughnut. He took a chomp out of it, chewing vigorously as he studied his brother with twinkling eyes. “I’d hate for you to be saddled to an ugly one.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed with annoyance, his voice icy when he spoke. “Gabriel, you are a narrow minded individual. I do not care if they are ‘cute’.” His hands rose in air quotes at the word, mouth twisted in displeasure. “You do not know if they will show up while I work. And if they do, you will not be present to see it. You’ll be working in the shop today, I can manage the counter.” He cut off his brothers’ protest with an icy glare, blue eyes flashing hard with his clear irritation.

With a mutter of ‘ _how rude and ungrateful’_ , Grabriel grabbed another doughnut before retreating to the back. He made it known that Cass had hurt his feelings by the too loud blare of music and the continual clattering of tools. And of course a few curses words that slipped out under the noise. Cass rolled his eyes at the childish behaviour before he took his place behind the register, waiting for a customer to come.

His customer came in the form of a viciously cursing man that stomped his way through the doors, looking as if he held a grudge against the entire world. He hurried his way over toward the counter and Castiel admired the way his ripped jeans fit snug around his generous legs. Then he blinked at the language, frowning uncertainly. The man came to a stop in front of the counter, looking down at Castiel with desperate eyes that were a brilliant shade of green. “Hey man, I need some help?”

His voice was rich and deep and a bit gravelly, sounding like a voice that could promise a sinful night. Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at the countertop with a shy gaze. “Angel Dust is a mechanic repair shop. Is your vehicle in need of repair?” He mumbled out, absently tracing a finger over a scratch in the finish of the wood.

“Angel Dust? Isn’t that a drug?” The man chuckled slightly at his words before getting down to business, “My car, yeah, it’s broken down about a mile away. At the club on Main street, Viva La Chicks. I left it there last night and when I tried to start her up this morning, the engine wouldn’t catch. I think the battery is dead?” He spoke in a hurried voice, arms resting against the counter.

“Oh. My brother, he has a tow truck. We can go get your car, no additional fees. What is the model and make?” Castiel fetched out a small notepad and pen, moving it over to the customer. “I’m Castiel Novak, by the way. My brother is Gabriel. If you have a battery problem, we keep a stock of them in the back. Will take maybe half an hour to fix and test if that is the problem.” He explained politely.

“That sounds great. Can I crash here until it’s done? I’m Dean. Dean Winchester.” Dean scribbled down his information on the post it pad. Cass whistled admiringly when he read the information. “You drive a 67 impala? That’s one hell of a car,” he managed to squeak out, looking up at Dean with new respect.

“Oh yeah, she’s my baby. So tell your brother to be extra careful with her or I might sue!” Dean smirked down at Cass, adding a light wink to soften his words into a joke. “Mind if I?” He gestured toward a chair, tilting his head inquiringly. That was how Castiel saw it. _00:00:00_. The all too familiar numbers were mirrored on Dean’s wrist, almost hidden in the curve of his skin as his hand waved.

Castiel paled at the sight, jerking his eyes upwards to meet Dean’s. The other man seemed concerned by the sudden behavior, “Hey, man, you ok?” He dropped his hand back down, frowning. “I don’t have to stay if you’d rather I didn’t? I’m not a hooligan or anything, I won’t break shit or cause a ruckus?” He sounded a bit hurt.

“Y-Your numbers.” Castiel lifted his arm up, jerking up the cuffs to his white button-up shirt, exposing his own row of zeroes. Dean glanced down in confusion, green eyes glued to the tattoo. As if it had sparked something, Cass felt a sharp sting burn through his wrist, making him yelp at the pain. Dean mimicked the sound, followed with a curse as he roughly shook out his hand. “The Hell?”

Their confused looks met, pale blue eyes meeting rich green ones, both set in pale faces. Dean was the first to break the too long silence, “You’re my soul mate?” His voice sounded shocked, roughening his deep voice. Castiel felt his heart hammering, pounding through his suddenly too tight chest. This was his soul mate? This brisk looking man with messy dirty blonde hair and too wide green eyes?

“I… I…” Cass couldn’t make his voice work, it caught in his throat and he choked on the words. He coughed uncomfortably, hands braced against the counter as his world started to spin. This was not how he had imagined meeting his soul mate! This had to be wrong. His mind stumbled over itself in a panic, his breathing hitching and speeding up, coming in small gasps. A moment later he felt warm hands gently rubbing at his back, a soft voice grumbling out comforting words.

“Hey, Cass, it’s alright. Cass, breathe. You’re going to pass out if you don’t relax. It’s alright, man. Cass?” He felt himself get pulled into a loose embrace, hands still rubbing small circles over his back. He stood stiffly for a long moment in the foreign arms before sagging against Dean’s chest, trying to find enough air to inflate his starving lungs. Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that Dean smelled like cinnamon and gun powder, like whiskey and something musky.


	6. Chapter 6

_00:00:00._ Dean Winchester knew from the beginning of this fateful day that it would suck. He had woke up to his head feeling like it was going to split itself in half, his stomach heaving sickly. He’d drank too much last night and it was showing with a vengeance. Despite the vicious hangover, he had showered then dressed, worried about his baby still parked at the bar.

The bar was about a mile walk away from his apartment, a mile that felt like ten to his aching body. He arrived to find the Impala unmolested, sitting where he’d left it the night before. Then he had discovered his baby was broken, unresponsively rumbling when he turned the keys. He slapped his frustrated hands against the wheel, accidentally startling himself when he hit the horn by mistake.

He dragged a hand over his tired face, running his fingers through his messy hair. What a fantastic way to start the day! He grouched unhappily to himself as he searched up a nearby repair shop on his phone. Some sketchy sounding place called ‘Angel Dust’ popped up, about another mile down the road. Who named a shop after a drug? Dean scoffed at that as he eased out of his car, running a hand regretfully over her hood before heading toward the address.

Much to his surprise, Angel Dust turned out to be a small shop tucked on the corner of the street. It looked very clean and respectable, sign made out in a professional black print with stylized wings arcing around the words. He still mumbled a stream of curses to himself as he stomped his way through the front doors, making a beeline for the person standing behind the counter.

And damn was he hot. Dean couldn’t help himself as he admired the man, eyes raking quickly over his body before focusing back on his face. The worker was dressed oddly for a mechanic shop, wearing slacks with a white button up and a backwards blue tie. But his assemble complimented his shock of black, messy hair, and brilliant blue eyes. “Hey man, I need some help?”

He exchanged pleasantries with the man, Castiel, chattering idly as he scrawled out his information for him. The name was strange, who named their kid something like Castiel? At least he had good taste, the admiration for his baby was apparent when he whistled lowly. Then everything happened too fast for Dean’s tired mind. Castiel had gone so pale, Dean babbled out something that he already forgot, and then the pale man was showing his wrist.

The sudden sting had caught Dean by surprise, he yelped and swore at it while shaking his hand. A quick look down showed his tattoo was gone, which meant… Castiel seemed to come to the same conclusion, his expression mirrored Dean’s shocked words, “You’re my soul mate?” His thoughts raced with surprise and sudden happiness as he stared at Castiel. This gorgeous man was Dean’s soul mate? God damn did he win.

It was hurriedly erased when he realised Castiel was having a panic attack, hands holding too tight to the counter while he gasped in tiny pants. Dean eased himself around the counter, coming up behind him, hands pressing gently against his heaving back. He worked small circles into Castiel’s back, murmuring soothing words to the hyperventilating man. When he didn’t seem to respond, he shrugged away the boundaries of personal space and pulled his soul mate into a loose hug.

“Hey, Cass, it’s alright. Cass, breathe. You’re going to pass out if you don’t relax. It’s alright, man. Cass?” Dean carefully kept his voice soft and gentle, urging Castiel to relax as he kept rubbing his back. At first he was stiff inside Dean’s arms, standing stock still save for his heaving chest. Then in the space of a moment he crumbled against Dean, hand coming up to seize his black t-shirt, crumbling the fabric in a tight grip.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he held Castiel in his arms, he just kept up a murmur of words, kept rubbing little circles. Eventually he carefully rested his cheek against his soft mess of black hair, closing his eyes as he comforted him. Slowly Castiel began to calm down, breathing evening out to almost normal. Dean was about to let him go when he heard a shout of rage, “What are you doing to my brother?”

He barely had a second to respond before a tight hand dug into his shoulder and jerked him around, Cass stumbling out of his embrace. Dean started to answer but he wasn’t given the chance; instead, a fist slammed into his jaw with a rush of white hot pain. Another punch followed a split second later, snapping his face in the other direction. Blood splattered against the wall from his lip, split open against his tooth from the first hit.

“Gabriel! Stop it! Gabe!” Dean heard Castiel shouting behind him as he recovered enough to block the third strike, arm jerking upwards to divert the blow. He ducked another wild swing, pushing his elbow out sharply into Gabriel’s side. He heard the gasp of breath rushing out of his lungs and Dean took the chance to side step around the wild man, backing away with his hands raised. He saw Castiel catch his brother, looking thoroughly pissed off. “Gabriel you buffoon, stop it!”

Castiel glared his brother down with such icy blue eyes that even Dean felt their chill. Gabriel had steadied himself by now, looking between Castiel and Dean with a narrowed gaze. “He was attack you, Cassie.” His vehement words were spoiled by the undertone of uncertainty. Dean scowled as he pulled the bottom of his shirt up, touching the fabric gingerly to his bleeding lip. He swallowed down a hiss of pain.

“That is my soul mate you just attacked, Gabe.” Castiel deadpanned, voice cold with his anger. “And now he’s bleeding. Damn it, Gabriel. Have you ever thought to think before acting? Clearly not.” Dean watched as Castiel stomped over to a tissue box, snatching a few up before bringing them to Dean. Gabriel looked like someone had hit him in the back of the head with a 2-by-4. It would have been a funny sight except Dean’s face hurt too much to laugh.

“Your… oh. Well. Hmph. This is awkward,” Gabriel said with an awkward cough, clearing his throat. “I’m going to, er, go. Before you try to break my face in return,” he hurried past Dean and Cass, retreating behind the garage doors with a clatter of his footsteps. Dean watched him leave, dumbfounded at the sudden retreat. Then he looked down at Castiel, offering him the tissues with a regretful grimace on his face.

Dean sucked in a deep breath, releasing it in a gusty sigh that devolved into a tired chuckle. “Let me guess, your brother? Can’t say we met under great conditions there. He certainly has one hell of a hook though,” he pressed the tissues against his lip with a wince. Cass stood there looking uncomfortable, eyes down to study his feet. Dean dropped the bloodied tissues in a nearby bin before carefully catching Castiel’s chin in his hand.

“You know, I hate to be cliché about this but I’m going to kiss you. I think I earned that,” he said seriously with a small smile. Castiel huffed out a slight laugh but it was stolen by Dean’s lips pressing against his. The kiss was meant to be chaste, just a brief peck of their lips together. But the little sigh of contentment from Cass, the way his body seemed to melt against Dean’s, it threw caution to the wind. Dean buried his other hand into the messy black hair of his soul mate, crushing their lips together. It didn’t matter that the kiss tasted of copper, he ignored the pain of his split lip.

It was like clockwork, perfect to the end, when they drew back with a huff of laughter. Everything felt like the last piece of a puzzle, slotted into its place to complete the work.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this needed more. I originally wanted the end to be what it was, but a few hours after posting, I found myself writing more. I might even keep adding to this in the future, it depends on my feedback. So leave me some comments! :)

Dean traced a lazy thumb over his wrist, where numbers used to stand out in black against the skin. They were long since gone and all that remained was the memory of having them. He almost wished he still had those slowly dwindling numbers, going down day by day. Perhaps another year or two, just enough time to fix his problems.

Two months ago he had met his soul mate, a bright eyed man with messy black hair and an easy smile. He’d earned a split lip and a bruise the same day, their first kiss stained with the blood still oozing from his lip. He had tasted copper and the faintest hint of maple, left over from a doughnut. They’d laughed and smiled after, felt like the world was perfect for that moment. The peace was too short, broken by the necessity of life.

Cass had fixed up the Impala as quick as he could, refusing to charge Dean for the service. Dean had stolen more kisses, ignoring the pain from his mouth, already addicted to the sweet bliss each kiss brought. It made Castiel blush, the slightest of red brushing across his cheeks. Then he was whisked away by business, having to deal with an apparent regular who drove a noisy maroon truck.

Dean had haunted the mechanic shop for most of that day, unwilling to leave Cass and his sweet smiles. Gabriel stayed hidden in the garage, only showing up once to steal a doughnut with a mumbled apology. He’d winced at the sight of Dean’s swollen face and lips, quickly retreating back to the shop. When the clocked turned to 5:30, Dean left in a whirlwind of goodbyes and more kisses, off to work his shift at the bar.

Life was good for the first month. They spent their time slowly learning each other, taking it in a slow stride. Dean took Cass on dates at least twice a week, introducing the sheltered mechanic to the cafes and diners in town. He learned about Dean’s love for burgers and pie; Dean learned that Cass loved burgers, too, but he preferred ice cream over pie. They both loved coffee the same way, black and as dark a roast as possible.

It was the beginning of the second month that trouble started up. Dean got evicted from his apartment, he had come home after a date and gotten drunk in celebration. The next day the notice was taped to his door, he had one week to be out or his stuff would get tossed and the locks changed. It stabbed his pride, even to this day, that he had to ask Castiel for a place to crash. Cass didn’t seem to mind, in fact he pointed out they would have lived together eventually anyways.

Once he moved in, things started rolling downhill too quickly. Castiel and Dean had two wildly different schedules. The mechanic worked eight to five, leaving the house somewhere around half past seven in the morning. He never stayed up later than ten and was a light sleep. Dean worked from six in the evening to two in the morning, often coming home half drunk at three am. The first week Cass just sleepily moved over when Dean crawled into bed, smelling like alcohol and the night.

The next week, Castiel approached Dean about his addiction to alcohol. It started peaceful, Cass was just worried that his soul mate drank too much. The late nights he could handle, but the constant odor of whiskey was becoming too much. It turned into a shouting match quickly, hurdled words and swears filling the small house. Dean shouted, Cass yelled, and at one point the mechanic had slapped his other half. It took three days before he spoke to Dean again.

And now Dean sat inside the too quite house, studying his empty wrist. It was the end of the second month dating Cass. Ten minutes ago his soul mate had shouted that he was done, he had enough. He stormed out of his own house, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows. They had been fighting again about Dean’s alcoholism. He adamantly insisted there wasn’t a problem but Cass had just screamed, “You’re going to die this way, Dean. You’ll drown yourself in booze and you don’t even care. I can’t do this. I’m leaving. I want you gone when I return.”

Dean licked his chapped lips, sighing gustily at the sting it yielded. He dug around in his jeans for his phone, mind stuttering around the fight. He only had one person that could help him in this time of need. His brother, someone he hadn’t spoken to for half a year now. His finger hesitated over the number that would speed dial Sam, hesitating for a long minute before pressing down.

He listened to the ringing as it echoed out of his phone, swapping it over to speaker because he didn’t even have the energy to lift his phone right now. Would his brother even answer? It was almost midnight. Sammy was an important lawyer, living two states away. Dean vaguely remembered that he kept early nights, like Cass, rarely awake past eleven. The phone rang ten times before it clicked and a sleepy voice mumbled, “Dean?” His heart hammered at the sound of his younger brother, skipping a beat painfully.

“Sammy. Yeah. It’s… It’s me. Dean.” He managed to gasp out from his tight chest, squeezing down his emotions when his voice squeaked embarrassingly. He cleared his throat, coughing away the lump in his chest. “Hey Sam. I, uh, need some help.” It gutted him right in the pride to have to ask for help but Castiel was worth it.

There was a pause then a bit of a shuffle over the phone, some hollow footsteps and the creak of a door. Then Sam spoke, voice more alert. “What’s wrong, Dean? Are you in jail? Are you in the hospital?”

“No, Sam, I’m alright. Sort of. I uh, well. I met my soul mate, man.” Dean managed a tired little chuckle, shaking his head as he stared down at the glowing screen. “He’s amazing, Sam. Everything I could have wanted. He’s beautiful and funny and sweet. His name is Castiel, he’s a mechanic.” He realised he was babbling and jerked himself back under his self-control, licking his lips again.

“Well shit man, congratulations.” Sam’s voice crackled out after a brief moment of silence, sounding as if he were speaking through a yawn. “But, um, ho-how do you need my help? Sounds like you have life made, man.” He heard a slight scuffle before the groan of what sounded like a chair. He wondered if Sam was in his kitchen, sitting at the table like Dean was now.

“I fucked up, Sam.” His voice broke on his brother’s name, cracking into the beginning of a sob. He sucked in a heaving breath, forcing down the emotion ruthlessly. “I drove him off because I drink too much. I can’t stop, Sam, I tried. I can’t stop drinking. It takes away the pain…” he trailed off even as a single tear ran down his cheek in a scorching trail. His throat felt like it was closing up, like a lump was stuck in it.

He heard Sam sigh through the static, blowing out a tired breath. “Dean, you’ve gotta stop. You’re going to lose your soul mate. Over booze. I know it’s hard but have you tried a support group? Or, hell, rehab? You might need it. This is your soul mate, dude. He’s better than any whiskey you could drink. I know the past hurts, I lived it too, Dean. But at this rate you’ll turn into dad. A tired drunk, only without the kids to beat on.”

Dean closed his against the words, flinching at the memories. His body ached with the phantom bruises he remembered, left by his father’s angry fists or empty bottles. “Sam…” he started, voice sounding broken even to his ears. His brother cut him off harshly, voice suddenly alight with sudden emotion.

“Dean, don’t you love him? Get help, brother. You need it. Or you’ll end up dead before you’ve barely lived, alone and drowning in booze.” The phone clicked suddenly, indicating that Sam had hung up on him. Dean blinked at that, looking down at his phone until the screen stopped glowing. His head bowed down as he slumped in the chair, struggling so desperately with his emotions.

He vaguely heard the door opening, soft footsteps shuffling through the carpet to scuff against the tile. He looked up to see Castiel standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at Dean with bloodshot blue eyes. His soul mate was a wreck, his nose red and eyes redder, face still wet from tears. Dean jerked himself up and out of the chair, moving toward Cass with a desperate expression.

“Cass, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out, spilling while his mind tried to catch up. He felt himself falling to his knees in front of Castiel, hands reaching up to hold onto the all too familiar white button up. “I’ll stop, I’ll get some help. I called Sam and he helped me a bit. I’ll get better, I swear. Please don’t leave me. I need you, Cass” His little speech ended on his voice cracking again and he buried his suddenly wet face in Castiel’s shirt.

A gentle hand carefully touched his head, fingers slowly running through his hair with a hesitant touch. He heard a slight hiccup, a quick inhale, then: “I won’t leave you, Dean. If you get the help you need, if you stop drinking, I will stay. I need you, too. But I need the you that isn’t always stumbling home drunk in the night.” Castiel let himself sink down to the floor in front of Dean, his arms reaching out to pull his soul mate into a comforting embrace.

“I’ll get better, Cass, I swear.” Dean mumbled against his shoulder, moving so that his face was buried into Castiel’s neck. He breathed in deeply, soothed by the gentle scent that was Cass. He smelled like honey and wild flowers, like engines and the night; it was something that was purely Castiel when put together. “I’ll do it for you.” He felt the lightest of kisses pressed to his head and suddenly the world didn’t seem so bleak.

He’d make this work. He needed Castiel too much to not make it work. Cass was his soul mate, his other half in too big world.


End file.
